Page 25 of Retribution

This. This is my choice.

I turn my confusion into a smile as the rage I’ve tried to dim, fuels the rising temperature of my blood.

The bartender seems to relax and turn away. Hm.

“Not to worry, I was finished anyway,” I smirk as I take the whiskey glass, dropping it to the floor.

Instantly, the bar quiets. Their eyes on me, watching for my next move.

The bartender backs away, holding up his hands.

“We don’t want any trouble.” He tries to reason with me.

“Well, I wanted another drink!” I yell, standing up from my stool and slamming my hands down on the bar as a wave of intoxication begins to consume me.

“If you don’t calm down, I’m gonna have to call the cops, dude.”

Stealing an onlooker’s glass from their table, I flick my head back and drink whatever concoction it was.

“If you won’t get me a drink, I’ll get one myself,” I slur, reaching down to take another mysterious glass.

The commotion heightens as the bartender grabs the phone.

The world looks at me with absolute disgust, as if I’m just some sleazy alcoholic.

Nobody knows what I am going through, the shit I’ve got on my plate. And here they are… sitting, judging, pitying.

A perfect representation of the world as it is, bitter and unforgiving.

I kick back another drink from a random table as a presence looms over me. A guy, who is a good few inches taller than me, covered in tattoos, bares his teeth at me.

“You think you intimidate me?” I snarl, the fury inside of me only increases.

I’m sick of people thinking they have a say so on my life.

He begins to square up to me just as I puff out my chest, anger pulsing through my veins.

I need this, I need some way to get rid of this torturous feeling that reminds me so much of the innocent 12 year old, who lost the most important person in his world.

“You should be intimidated, pretty boy.” He smirks.

I see out of my peripheral someone darting towards us as the guy in front of me raises his fist.

Go on, do it.

Hit me.

I need this.

I need to feel the physical pain, I can’t take suffering with any of this mentally anymore, I need to be punished.

As I brace myself for impact, a high-pitched voice shrieks, “STOP! He’s with me!”

My eyes flicker open, casting upon the last person I expected to see tonight.

Indie Thorne.

Chapter 8

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